


cross my heart, cross my fingers

by midnightroom



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life, Van Days, basically they walk around in chicago in the middle of the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightroom/pseuds/midnightroom
Summary: (EDIT: i no longer listen to this band and i do NOT support shipping real people anymore! i'm gonna leave this fic up though, just because i can't bring myself to delete it. thanks for understanding!)Chicago was nice at night, Pete thought.(In other words, Pete's unsure, Patrick's cold, and the streets of the city are the perfect place to hold hands.)





	cross my heart, cross my fingers

**Author's Note:**

> it's something o' clock in the middle of the night and i made the super great decision to write an early days fob fic at this time because i'm a trash person who doesn't understand the value of sleep! so here you go, i hope you guys like it! also i absolutely love chicago because it's such a lovely and vibrant city but i can confirm it's sort of terrifying at night
> 
> anyway, enjoy! <3

Chicago was nice at night, Pete thought, curled up on the wooden bench.

"This is fucking terrifying," Patrick said, shivering a bit in the cold. "We're in the city alone, someone could come up to us and kill us right now."

Pete smiled and turned away from Lake Michigan. It was pitch black, blending in with the night sky with only soft rippling waves to differentiate the two.

"Pete, we should go back," Patrick said.

"It's such a nice night though."

"Yeah, keep saying that until we get mugged."

Pete laughed and shifted a little on the bench so their thighs were touching. They did this sometimes. It felt comfortable. "I thought we were supposed to be killed."

"Yes!" exclaimed Patrick exasperatedly, throwing his hands up wildly. "Mugged and killed."

"I'll protect you," Pete said, throwing an arm over Patrick's shoulders, feeling deeply satisfied when Patrick settled into it. "No one gets to hurt my lead singer."

Patrick huffed, defeated. "Okay, Pete."

* * *

They'd been at a party earlier, one much more upscale than the parties held in the 'burbs, the ones that were all drunk teens and shitty music and people making out everywhere. No, this one was a cool one with cool people from the city who painted and sang and actually drank good beer.

Joe and Andy were still there even though they'd let Pete drag Patrick out for a walk. Or at least he hoped they'd seen him. If they left back for home without him and Patrick he wasn't sure what they'd do in Chicago in the middle of the night.

It was surreal, a little bit. That suddenly they weren't just some wannabe kids anymore. They were actual up-and-coming musicians. That was what a girl had said at the party. She'd heard of them before and even flirted a bit with Joe. Suddenly that was a thing; suddenly they were people to flirt with.

It was all happening so fast that Pete felt a little off-kilter, dizzy with the knowledge that they were actually doing something significant, that he couldn't screw this up the way he had with basically everything else he'd ever done.

Pete watched the dark ripples of the water below them. It looked endless, like a sea of ink stretching out and swallowing the horizon.

"Pete," Patrick said, a little more quietly than before, jolting Pete out of his reverie.

"What?"

"I'm really cold. I don't have a jacket."

Pete pulled away and looked at him. The kid was in a thin t-shirt, and it was October, and Illinois got freezing in the fall. "What were you thinking?"

"I forgot my jacket at the party," Patrick pouted, sticking out his bottom lip.

It wasn't that fair of him to look that way, Pete thought, taking in his upturned mouth and the sweep of his eyelashes. It made him wanna give him the world.

He unzipped his hoodie, the wind ruffling his bangs on his forehead. "Here, take mine. We can walk back if you want. I don't want you to like, die."

Patrick smiled at him softly and took it and put it on. "Thanks. Sorry."

Somehow when he'd put it on, the hoodie looked so much bigger on Patrick than it had on him and Pete's heart twinged a little. Patrick was so small, but he acted so much older that it was easy to forget. It was a funny thing.

"Come on, princess," said Pete, getting up and reaching out a hand for Patrick to grab. "Let's get back to the party."

Patrick's hand was freezing and as they turned away from the lake and started walking back to the heat and lights of the party Pete sort of kept it there in his hand. Just to warm it. Patrick didn't say anything, just let Pete hold it.

"So, we didn't get mugged," Pete pointed out as they passed by shops with dark windows, closed for the night. Pete wasn't too sure what time it was, but it was late. And cold, he thought, holding back a shiver.

Patrick smiled a bit as the streetlights cast a glow over his face, soft and gauzy, his stupid glasses creating a shadow across his nose and his eyes gleaming dark in the night. "Yeah, I guess we didn't."

They walked, swinging their linked hands. There was no one around.

"You know," Patrick said after a little bit. "Isn't it weird that we're here? Like, at an actual party with actual musicians in actual bands. Do we, I don't know. Do we even belong here?"

"God, I know," agreed Pete. "I was thinking that too. But we do belong here, Trick. We deserve it. We've got you, how could we not have gotten this far already?"

Patrick looked down at the ground, suddenly bashful. "I guess so."

"I know so," Pete told him firmly, suddenly more sure of it than he had ever been of anything. "We're gonna go so far, kid."

Patrick stopped in his tracks, just next to a small enclosed garden nestled between two large buildings that towered over them. "You know, I don't think I say this a lot, but thanks."

"For?"

"Everything, really. Looking out for the band. For me."

Pete laughed softly and squeezed Patrick's hand. "If anything it's the other way around, Trick."

Patrick squeezed back, and they stood there under the stars in the empty streets and Pete felt good. The off-kilter feeling was gone.

"You're a good man, Pete Wentz."

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown," echoed Pete and they both grinned at each other goofily.

Things were going fast, but Patrick was the same as he'd been a year ago, a little stubborn, a little whiny, but still the best person Pete knew.

Pete hoped could do his best for his sake. (And the band's, of course, he told himself when his heart leapt.)

It was cold, but Pete's hand felt warm in Patrick's.

Chicago was nice at night, Pete thought.


End file.
